The Duke's Forbidden Lover (Forbidden #1)

Chapter 18.

That insufferable woman knew just how to get under his skin. Alastair sat at the dining table with his son next to him, humming a little song that the wretched woman had taught him.

He could not help but eye him, his mind on moments earlier. He endeavoured to erase it from his mind but her ratchet behaviour was too much to ignore.

How dare she insult Adelia? Has she not any idea about manners?

Alastair could not help but scoff externally his hand clenching and unclenching. The woman would not know what manners were even if she were to be hit in that empty head of hers.

"Daddy?" Richard gaped at his father staring almost icily at him.

His wide eyes blinked in fear and Alastair cleared his throat, looking away. "I'm sorry Richard," he said, his voice hoarse. "My mind was on other matters."

Richard nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer and continued to swing his legs back and forth as he continued humming. Alastair's face softened and he could not help but watch his son, the innocence oozing from him. 

He hoped that that lasted forever with him as the realities of the real world were much harsher and tougher than he would anticipate. He let out a sigh before looking down at the breakfast laid down before him.

His eyes glanced involuntarily towards the kitchen where Nalini would sometimes converse with Nora - however, she was nowhere to be seen. His face hardened yet again and he clutched the fork and knife in his hands most tightly.

She was intent on maddening him, it was clear. Her childish behaviour was very much on display when she refused to come down and work as she was paid to do. He was seeing red and it would only be a matter of days or hours that he would fire the damned woman.

It was infuriating enough that the no-good woman had the nerve to insult his family as if she had the right to do so, but to refuse to show up in the morning at the time one was supposed to work was most aggravating.

The thought of his family caused the grip on his cutlery to loosen, just slightly.

The familiar dread and guilt and sorrow that he always tried to bury deep within him, unwittingly rose and threatened to grind his insides to a pulp.

February 1835

Thunder struck outside the large manor, shaking the walls of the inside.

Alastair stood, watching the rain pattering against the window, arms behind his back and face, solemn.

His eyes glanced towards the large clock, the small hand hitting the one in perfect timing. He rubbed his eyes as if it was a cue to display his exhaustion.

Alastair had been patiently waiting ever since he had received a letter from Edward that night about an important matter regarding Adelia.

She had been missing for a while now and his concern grew as each day passed without any details about her whereabouts.

The weather too didn't seem very agreeable, matching the way he felt.

Alastair ran a hand down his face in irritation and exhaustion. A slight knock on the door forced him to move.

He half wished that the person on the other side was his sister who always kept in contact with him.

After her husbands' death, she was weak. Alastair could see what his death had done to her.

It wasn't long before news of her running away with the man whom she believed to be her lover spread around, and though Alastair did not want to believe it, it turned out to be true.